Now Hiring
by Claggart
Summary: Harry’s stuck in a wheelchair after the battle with Voldemort, magically and physically handicapped. On a rare visit outside, Harry sees that a broken down apothecary is hiring. His life is about to change dramatically. HPSS
1. Default Chapter

_Disclaimer:_ Not mine.  
_Rating:_ Err...don't know for sure yet.  
_Summary:_ Harry's stuck in a wheelchair after the battle with Voldemort, magically and physically handicapped. On a rare visit outside, Harry sees that a broken down apothecary is hiring. His life is about to change in a dramatic way. HP/SS

**Now Hiring  
**_"Feels a Little Desolate"_

A sparrow flitted around outside his window, enjoying the warm sunlight of the morning. He sighed gently and pulled the curtain closed. He didn't want to feel sunlight or watch birds.

"_Up next, we've got a great new hit from the Weird Sisters. You know, I was so glad when they got back together. They're just too talented to quit the business like that. Speaking of the Weird Sisters, we're going to have the new cellist from the group in the studio for tomorrow morning's show, so you don't want to miss that…" _

His hands dropped to the sides of his chair listlessly and pushed the resisting wheels forward, away from the only window in his apartment. His chair creaked and groaned like a little old man. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes and pull at his unkempt hair in frustration. He resisted the urge to grab the tiny radio and slam it against the wall.

The bare light bulb over his head began to flicker. Harry stared at it, as if transfixed by its feeble sputtering.

"Don't you dare go out, you little fucker. Don't you _dare_," Harry warned, his green eyes flashing as he glared at the yellowed ceiling. In the background, the new song from the Weird Sisters floated out of the radio. They sang through the chorus, oblivious to Harry's battle of wills with his light bulb.

The bulb went out. The apartment was pitched into shadowy darkness, as the heavy curtain over the window was still closed. Harry had no way to change the bulb. He sat in the near darkness gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles were white. He knew it was irrational to get so angry about a stupid light bulb going out, but he just couldn't control his emotions. His helplessness was absolutely _pathetic_.

Unable to calm his violent temper, he picked up a half-eaten box of Chinese delivery and flung it with all his strength. The noodles hit the wall with a wet, satisfying smack.

"_And that was the Weird Sisters with their smash new hit. In just a second we're going to take some of your calls, have a floo traffic update, and then we're going to play the clip of the Minister of Magic making his address to the Wizengamot…"_

Harry was distracted from the spilled food by the mention of the Minister. Harry didn't subscribe to the Daily Prophet anymore, but he'd heard about the new Minister on his radio. He disliked him. Not that his opinion really mattered.

The noodles finally sunk into the dirty carpet, just as Harry lost himself in an old memory.

"_You should look at this pamphlet, Harry," Hermione advised, thrusting a shiny folded paper under his nose. Rolling his eyes at her enthusiasm and bossiness, he took the pamphlet and skimmed over it cautiously. _

"_Politics, Hermione? You know I can't stand the Ministry…"_

"_Exactly! You could **change** it. God knows you've got enough influence with the public." _

There was an enthusiastic knock on the door. Harry shook his head to clear it of thoughts of the past. It physically hurt him to think of how happy they all had been – how excited about the future. Even he had lost some of his pessimism and had begun to believe, _really_ believe, that he would have a life beyond Voldemort.

What a stupid _child_ he'd been.

Angrily, he wheeled himself towards the dark bedroom, intent on ignoring whoever was at the door.

"Harry James Potter, I know you're in there!"

Harry sighed resignedly and then changed his course. It was Ginny at the door, and Harry knew from experience that the witch would stand on his doorstep knocking for hours until he let her inside. Still irritated, he wheeled to the door and slid the numerous locks open with more force than was necessary. He jerked the door open about a foot wide and scowled.

"What do you need, Ginny?" He asked, not at all politely. Undisturbed by his gruff manners, Ginny smiled brightly at him and displayed her arm full of groceries.

"Well, come on, let me in already! These bags are heavy," she bossed, pushing the door open further with her foot and waltzing right in. She seemed to take no notice of the dirty, run down apartment. Instead, she went straight to the small kitchen with her armload, chatting amiably all the while.

"…and so then Robert offered to take my shift, because I think he wants me to go on a date with him which is _so _not happening, but I let him take it because I wanted to come make lunch for you. So, how has your morning been?"

Once again, Harry shook his head to clear it. Ginny talked too fast. You'd think he'd get used to it, considering Ginny was the only person he really talked to at all anymore. Sometimes he'd go weeks without seeing another person if Ginny was busy with her job at St. Mungos.

But she'd always come back into his life like a red headed tornado, sweeping into his apartment bearing groceries, muggle cigarettes, and a chick flick.

Harry endured her visits, he told himself, just so he could get his beloved smokes.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ginny tossed a huge box of American cigarettes at him. Greedily, he pulled out a fresh carton and tore the plastic off. Tuning Ginny's babble out, he puffed happily on the cigarette, feeling the tension drain slowly out of his body.

"God, that's _just_ what I needed," he said softly to himself, earning a glare from Ginny because it was obvious he wasn't listening to her. After a few moments, she began chattering again, rightly assuming that if she was going to wait for an apology from Harry she'd be waiting till her hair was white.

After the final battle and the unfortunate events that led him to be stuck in a wheelchair, physically and magically handicapped, Harry had become reclusive. There was a program at St. Mungos that delivered groceries to invalids and the elderly, so Harry had his food delivered twice a month directly to his front porch. This eliminated any real need for him to venture out of his apartment.

Unfortunately, because it was St. Mungos, they didn't deliver cancer sticks. So Ginny always brought him some whenever she came to visit, which was usually once a week or so.

"…so I rented it, even though this one looked even sappier than the ones we usually watch. It's about this girl who gets a heart transplant from this woman who's dead, and then ends up falling in love with the guy who was married to the woman who donated the heart. Romantic, huh?"

Harry took a long drag on his cigarette and let his head tip leisurely to the side.

"That's disgusting, Ginny," Harry replied simply, before blowing a cloud of smoke in her direction. Ginny banished the smoke cloud with a flick of her wand, glaring at him again as she did so.

"You know I hate the smell of those things, and I only bring them to you because I love you so much, so do me a favor and don't blow it back in my face," she snapped irritably, her bubbly smile finally departing. Harry smirked at her, but once again offered no apology. Harry was not the boy he had once been. Ginny could hardly remember how he used to be – his shy smiles, his sweet nature, his caring heart. _That_ Harry seemed like a distant memory now.

She rolled her eyes at him and began to chop up the vegetables for their soup.

"I know bachelors are notorious for being messy, but this is _ridiculous_, Harry. You've got a metropolis of bacteria in this fridge growing on your cheese. Now _that's_ disgusting. Yuck!" The young witch banished the cheese and cast a cleaning charm on the entire kitchen for good measure. Harry looked away. He hated being reminded of what he could no longer do.

They sat in silence for awhile, Ginny focusing on her recipe while Harry stared blankly at the wall above the tiny television.

Ginny cleared her throat. That was never a good sign. Warily, Harry turned his attention to her.

"I got those forms for you. All you have to do is add your signature. You can get all the paperwork you'll need in just a few weeks, and you could begin to start looking…"

"I told you I wasn't interested," Harry replied harshly, rubbing out his cigarette on the arm of his chair uncaringly. Ginny nodded tightly, her lips pursed.

"All the same, I went to a lot of trouble to get the papers, so I'm going to leave them with you and you can do whatever you want with them."

Harry didn't reply. The silence stretched. The water began to boil, and Ginny added the seasoned vegetables. She put the chicken in the one pan that Harry owned and began to fry it.

"Why don't you go ahead and put the movie in. Oh, and for Merlin's sake, Harry, put a shirt on. How's a girl supposed to watch a movie with a distraction like that?" Her tone was teasing, and Harry acknowledged her flattery with a small smile. Had the comment come from anyone else, Harry would have flown into a rage. He didn't like anyone looking at the ghastly scars on his chest and shoulders, compliments of Voldemort.

Still, he had a nicely built torso, mainly because he spent a lot of his time lifting weights and watching day time television. He knew Ginny was talking about his muscle rather than his scars.

Idly, he scooped a stained and slightly smelly shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head uncaringly. Ginny grimaced and wrinkled her nose up, but otherwise didn't comment. She began to dish out their soup and pour them some drinks as Harry fiddled with the old tape player hooked up to his small television.

"Is that bulb out, or is it just turned off?" Ginny asked, noticing for the first time that the apartment was even darker than usual.

"Out," Harry replied shortly, something dark coloring his voice. He knew he had to let Ginny change it – he certainly couldn't reach it himself. The witch waved her wand at it, and it lit up like a solar flare. Harry scowled and flinched from the light like a vampire would have done. When Harry could see properly again, he shot a glare at Ginny who shrugged sheepishly. Another wave of her wand and the blinding light reduced to a more bearable glow.

"I'm not very good at bewitching muggle things. Didn't get Dad's talent for it, I suppose," she mused while Harry rewound the tape. An advertisement for oven cleaner drifted gratingly out of the radio, and Harry forcefully yanked the plug out of the wall. He hated that stupid radio. Merlin only knew why he hadn't destroyed it yet. Perhaps because it had been a gift from Ginny for his last birthday.

Ginny piled the crispy chicken up on a plate and brought their meal into the living room. She knew fried chicken was Harry's favorite.

Harry debated inwardly over whether the tempting chicken was worth putting his cigarette down for. He knew Ginny was just as good a cook as her mother, and it had been a _long_ time since he'd had good fried chicken.

Resignedly, he snubbed out his second cigarette and reached for the chicken. Ginny smiled discreetly behind her bowl of soup, then pressed play on the remote. When she was dealing with Harry, she knew that any victory was something to be proud of, no matter how small. Just getting him to eat was nearly impossible. Getting him to put down a cigarette to do the aforementioned eating was a rare event indeed.

Harry watched the movie for only a few moments before his attention drifted, as it usually did, to the past.

"_Do you think he will recover, Albus?" _

"_Time heals all wounds, so they say." Dumbledore replied blandly. Harry could picture the elderly wizard stroking his beard in contemplation. He could feel the weight of his professors' gazes on him. He knew he should open his eyes, but for the first time he asked himself…_

_What was the point? _

"_Harry has defeated Voldemort, but at a terrible price. He has lost too much for someone so young. I fear his suffering is largely my fault. I have asked so much of him though…I have no right to ask his forgiveness," Dumbledore concluded sadly._

Harry came back to himself when Ginny made an asinine comment about the movie. A scowl twisted Harry's lips, and as was his habit, he twisted a lock of his hair around his fingers and tugged at it mercilessly. Ginny noticed and silently passed him his carton of cigarettes. He took it with a trembling hand, and for the rest of the movie he stared fixedly at the covered window, until the cigarette was a glowing dot flush against his chapped lips.

When Ginny left, she didn't waste her breath to say goodbye. Harry was obviously in one of his moods, and there was no talking to him when he was like that. A bit angry for no reason in particular (perhaps Harry's mood was catching), Ginny left the thick folder on the stained coffee table before gathering her things and leaving the foul smelling apartment. She stood for awhile with her back to Harry's closed front door, her eyes screwed shut tightly. Something had to change. He simply couldn't go on like he was forever.

**A/N: **I don't really know what to say about this one. It's just something I'm toying around with when I don't want to work on _Colt_. Updates will be erratic at best, as I don't have any other chapters written in advance, and I don't have a clear outline for a plot. I have a vague idea of where it's going, but nothing concrete.


	2. Phantom Pains

**Chapter 2**

"_The Phantom Pains"_

The pain was unimaginable, but it wasn't real.

Harry hated himself for succumbing to it.

He let out an animalistic howl as he dragged himself across his living room. He wasn't in his apartment anymore, though. He was on the battlefield. Hogwarts rose above the scene as if it were the stone thumb of God thrust up from the crust of the earth. And people died. People Harry didn't even know. But they were people he wished he had known, because they were fighting so valiantly and dying so bravely.

It was only there, crawling through the destruction like a wretched beggar, that Harry realized he was living history. He hadn't realized how big the world he carried on his shoulders really was until it all came crashing down around his ears. It felt like the entire wizarding race was fighting in that grassy field. He felt sure that when it was all over, _everything_ would be over.

But mostly, he felt pain. He had dueled with Voldemort, but he didn't know if he had defeated him or not. Someone had hit him with a spell that was aimed at his heart, but instead hit his legs. If it _had_ hit his heart, it would have caused so much pain that the vital organ would have simply stopped doing its job. Instead, he was now crippled, unable to breathe because the pain was so excruciating. Harry knew that if he lived to be a thousand, he'd never forget such agony.

And then he saw Ron take his last breath, lying pale as a ghost in the mud, and Harry thought for sure the pain spell had been fired again – this time successfully hitting its original target.

Harry was so wrapped up in memories that he didn't notice the two, slightly drunk young men outside his window. It was raining, and the heavy drops were drenching the grungy curtains because he'd left it open. The two men were college students, living in the run-down complex out of necessity because they couldn't afford anything better. They didn't know what to do when they passed the open window and heard the screams and howls from inside.

"I'm going in," said the shorter of the two. His vision swam as he crawled through the window and tumbled to the floor. Harry howled on, completely oblivious and far away in his own haunted memories. "Shit!" The student's curse was belated. The alcohol hadn't allowed him to immediately register the pain in his posterior that came from stumbling through a window and landing on one's ass in an inelegant heap.

Harry let out a particularly painful scream. The student still outside fumbled for his cell phone with the intention of calling for help. It slipped from his grasp, however, and rolled into a nearby drain. The student cursed fluently for a few moments, then forgot why he was upset, thanks to the alcohol he'd consumed, and went back to waiting for his friend.

Said friend located Harry easily enough.

"Shit, dude, you look like hell," the man commented pointlessly, flipping Harry onto his back with a bit of difficulty. Harry moaned, his eyes wide and unseeing. "Hey, Mikey, bring me the booze. This guy looks like he needs some!"

Mikey came in moments later, a brown sack in his arms.

"Fuck, man, I don't think you should give him anything," Mikey wasn't as drunk as his friend, but still was not in the best state of mind to be making decisions.

"Well I'm not callin' the cops. You wanna get arrested? We aren't supposed have this shit, remember?"

So, _logically_, the best thing to do was to pour alcohol down Harry's throat. Which they did, liberally, until he'd drank more than was healthy. Mikey, and his friend Chris, decided to drink with him. After awhile, Harry had quit moaning and had become quite friendly. Potions may not have worked on his body (for reasons even the finest healers couldn't discern) but muggle alcohol did the job nicely. He no longer felt the phantom pains in his legs, and he was too drunk to remember anything beyond how to ask for another swig. The haunting memories had been defeated for the night, and Harry had found a cure for the haunting pain in legs that were no longer there.

When Harry awoke the next morning, Chris and Mikey were gone, and he didn't even know they'd been there. He couldn't explain why his apartment was trashed, why he was surrounded by empty alcohol bottles, or why he had no memories of the previous night.

Despite the terrible hangover he had, and the vomiting he did all over the carpet, Harry felt better than he had in a long time. Something had finally made him sleep for more than a pitiful hour or so.

Knowing he would have to clean up before Ginny came by (or there would be _hell_ to pay) Harry slowly began the process of righting things and bathing himself. It took him most of the day, but soon the job was done well enough. If Ginny came, she wouldn't notice anything amiss.

And, for the first time, Harry was motivated to leave his apartment. He wanted to escape like that again. He wanted more alcohol, and he didn't think Ginny would be so obliging as to get it for him. He got dressed in the only clothes actually hanging in his closet. It was difficult pulling on the jeans, as Harry usually didn't make an effort to dress in anything other than boxers. When the pants were on, he put on the lone black t-shirt that had been hanging beside the jeans.

Feeling cleaner than he had in years (possibly because he actually _was_ cleaner than he had been in years), Harry wheeled out of the apartment just as the sun was setting in search of a liquor store.

His apartment was in a strange part of town – half magical, half muggle. Despite being unable to use a lick of magic himself, Harry could still see the unassuming wizarding establishments mixed in with the muggle stores as he wheeled down the street. The buildings were run down and very old. The muggles had moved into the wizarding town unknowingly. The wizards simply hadn't cared, and went on with life as they had before. Unsurprisingly, it was known as a bad part of town where strange people hung about.

After rolling himself half way around the world, or so it seemed, Harry found a seedy looking shop with a sign hung in the window that let Harry knew he'd come to the right place. Unaware he was entering the wrong door, Harry wheeled himself inside the dingy apothecary that was located next door. A bell went off as he entered.

At first, Harry didn't realize he'd entered the wrong store. There were certainly enough bottles about, and the place wasn't very well lit. It dawned on him, however, when a little old man popped out from behind the large counter. His glasses were ridiculously thick and huge. They made his big yellow eyes look like goldfish swimming in two glass bowls. He didn't have much hair, but it was combed neatly. His wizarding dress was very old fashioned, and everything about him was prim and tidy. Harry, though dressed in his best clothes, looked slovenly by comparison.

Instantly, Harry feared the old man would recognize him. But luck smiled on him, and the man was completely oblivious.

"So you're here for the job, I presume?" the old man questioned – as if he had applicants beating down his door all day.

"Err…no. I just came in the wrong door." Harry started to wheel himself out, but the odd wizard did something quite surprising. He jumped onto his stool, then over the counter, and came to loom over Harry quite suddenly. He was amazingly agile for someone his age.

"Don't be ridiculous. I put the sign out this afternoon, and you are the first person who has rung the bell since then."

Harry had no idea what to say. After only seeing Ginny for so long, Harry had forgotten how strange some wizards were.

"Look, I'm in the wrong store. I'm not applying."

"Then why on earth did you come in?" The man asked, as if Harry _not_ wanting to apply was what was strange.

"I already told you! I came in the wrong door!" Harry just wanted to buy the alcohol and get back to his apartment. He was already regretting leaving.

"That door was charmed, and I assure you I'm no slouch with my charms! The first person to walk through the door and set off the bell, after I put up the 'now hiring' sign, is supposed to be the one best suited to the position. Now, do you have your application or not?"

"Look, I don't have any application, I'm stuck in this chair permanently, and I can't do a lick of magic. I'm not suited to _any _job," Harry answered bitterly.

"Magic is not required. I merely need someone with eyes better than my own to sort my wares… and run the shop Tuesday through Sunday."

Harry blinked.

"What about Monday?" He asked, a bit of his old curiosity returning.

"I run the shop on Mondays, of course. What do you take me for – lazy?"

Harry didn't know whether it had been a joke or not, but the old man looked very serious. For the first time in a long time, Harry fought back a smile.

"Well, what are your qualifications?"

Harry seriously thought about how to answer the question, finding the situation suddenly very amusing.

"I…uh…graduated from Hogwarts. I took a year of advanced potions there."

"Excellent. Severus Snape teaches potions at Hogwarts, does he not?"

"Yes," Harry replied automatically. Surviving through a year of advanced potions with Snape should have been qualification enough for any apothecary owner.

"He's a kind lad – a bit on the shy side if I remember correctly. It was no surprise he went for his mastery. He used to spend hours in here. Why, it only seems like it was yesterday, but that was many years ago."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he just kept quiet.

"Well," the little man huffed, as if bringing himself out of old memories, "At least you were taught well. But more importantly, can you count?"

That one really threw Harry for a loop.

"Um…yes?" He replied hesitantly, not quite sure if they were talking about the same thing.

"You must be able to count to the number 53. That's the most I ever stock of one potion at a time. Can you count to 53? I once met the smartest wizard in the world, and he couldn't count past five. I suppose he was so busy learning impressive, flashy things that he never got around to learning the others – numbers, I mean."

That made Harry smile. He couldn't help it.

"I can count to 53," Harry replied. He wondered if all job interviews were like this in the wizarding world.

"I suppose that's all then." He turned back towards the counter, and Harry didn't know if they were done talking or not, when he abruptly turned around again. "Silly me. I almost forgot to tell you. Because I only work Mondays, you'll have a different supervisor for the rest of the week. He's…not like other wizards. If you harbor any intolerance, I'm afraid I simply can't higher you."

Harry thought of Remus Lupin, also killed in the final battle, and shook his head sadly.

"No…I'm not intolerant."

"Well that's a relief. If I do say so myself, he's overly sensitive about it, but he claims he's had trouble with it at previous jobs. He does wonderful work though. Can't imagine someone letting him go. Come on out, Mr. Pudgy. You must meet your new employee."

Harry wondered what sort of man possessed such a name, and wondered when exactly he'd agreed to take the job, but he was soon distracted by the arrival of Mr. Pudgy.

Mr. Pudgy was certainly not like other wizards. Mainly because most wizards didn't have four legs, fur, or whiskers (though undoubtedly there were exceptions). Mr. Pudgy, Harry was astounded to note, was a cat.

He looked Harry up and down speculatively, then let out a lengthy meow. The shop owner, who'd yet to give his name, or ask for Harry's for that matter, instantly replied.

"No, Mr. Pudgy, the order of catnip hasn't come in yet. And I don't know his name. He didn't say."

Harry's smile became even broader. He'd just been hired by some barmy old man to work for his cat. It was so preposterous it was funny. It felt good to smile again.

"My name's Harry Potter," he informed in an amused voice. Something told Harry the old man wouldn't have the foggiest clue who he was. He was right.

"There you have it, Mr. Pudgy. His name is Gary Plodder."

"Erm, actually, it's…"

Mr. Pudgy cut him off with a particularly loud meow.

"Don't be silly, Mr. Pudgy. We aren't going to call him Harry Potter. That's not his name. I don't go around calling you Winston Churchill, do I? Of course not. Because that's my name."

Harry wanted to really laugh then, but he bit the inside of his cheek. He had a feeling the old man would have been insulted. Harry wondered if he was really named Winston Churchill, or if he just _thought_ that was his name.

Then the cat did the most unbelievable thing. He rolled his eyes, then looked at Harry as if to say, 'forgive him – he's mad as a hatter in his old age.'

"Really, Mr. Pudgy! I'm as sane as you are!"

Harry never got around to buying his alcohol that night, but he did find himself in the precarious position of being hired as a store assistant, employee of one Mr. Pudgy. Certainly, stranger things have happened.

**A/N:** Bet you thought the apothecary would belong to Snape, didn't you? And I bet you thought this story was going to be super depressing and angsty, huh? Well, that was the plan, but then Winston just waltzed in, and before I knew it Harry was working for a distinguished cat named _Mr. Pudgy_. So much for angst.


	3. Troublesome Customers

**Chapter 3**

"_Troublesome Customers"_

Winston's Apothecary became a small ray of sunshine in the otherwise morbidly depressing life of Harry Potter. Ginny had been pressuring him to get a job – even going as far as to get him the paperwork to apply for muggle identification, so she was delighted when he told her he'd begun to work at the apothecary down the street.

If Ginny had been expecting Harry to revert back to his old self the second he found a job, she was sorely disappointed. Harry stayed very much the same, with the lone exception that he now left his apartment six days a week to work for a few hours in the shop. Ginny had tried to draw him further out of his shell, but he seemed content with his progress and would have none of it.

Still, Ginny was relieved that he was getting a bit of income. The Potter fortune had gone to paying his medical bills, and he'd refused to accept the money the ministry had offered him as payment for defeating the Dark Lord. Well, to be exact, he took the money and then turned around and donated it to a charity. He didn't keep a single knut. The very meager amount of money left in the Potter vault was enough to pay his dirt cheap rent each month, and ensure he had enough food, but not much else. Now that he was working, Ginny didn't have to worry about him skipping meals or going without simply because he didn't have the money.

But things had improved. Harry got up each morning, washed, dressed, and ate a good breakfast. He kept the apartment a bit cleaner. He kept the curtains open when the sun was shining outside. Ginny had even caught him sitting on his porch enjoying the afternoon breeze. It had only been once, but it warmed her heart.

Unfortunately, most things remained the same. Harry was still depressed. He was still irritable most of the time. He smoked like a chimney, and now he had taken to drinking alcohol whenever he had phantom pains. Ginny couldn't really get mad about it. She'd seen him when he was suffering, and as long as he wasn't drunk all the time, she couldn't begrudge him his peace. He took no interest in sprucing up his pitiful apartment or contacting any of the people that still cared about him. He wasn't concerned with repairing bridges he'd burned.

Hermione was one. Ginny understood why she had left England. She and Ron had been engaged, and when he was killed and it was thought Harry would never recover, she just couldn't take it. She moved to the states and eventually married someone else – a muggle, if Ginny remembered correctly. She was a librarian in a small town, and was quite happy. She wrote to Harry faithfully, even though he had never replied to a single letter. Ginny tried to keep her updated, and while she didn't lie and say Harry was doing wonderfully, she didn't guilt Hermione either. The way she saw it, Hermione deserved happiness just as much as Harry did. To hear about how miserable Harry was wouldn't do a damn thing for either of them.

And Ginny didn't feel Harry's progress was significant enough to bring her mother to visit him. In her old age, Mrs. Weasley had became a bit…unbalanced. Most days she was fine, but then something would set her off, and she'd think they were still in the war and that her children and her husband had died all over again. Ginny didn't want to risk Harry's depression sending Molly into one of her relapses. So, Ginny continued to be the only person Harry saw outside of the apothecary.

Beyond telling Ginny he'd gotten a job at the place, Harry didn't say much about it. In fact, he was suspiciously tight lipped on the subject. Naturally, Ginny decided a visit while he was at work was in order.

She nearly walked right past the place. It looked as though they never got any customers, which was why, she supposed, that Harry took the job. Had the shop been flooded with people, he never would have gone.

Harry didn't seem surprised to see her.

"Hi, Ginny," Harry said, a weak smile coming to his face. It was the first time he'd smiled at her in ages. It caused her to light up like a Christmas tree. She knew she was probably grinning stupidly, but she just couldn't help it.

"Hey, Harry. So this is the place, huh?" She asked brightly, looking around as if she were in a rock star's bedroom rather than a dingy apothecary.

"Yeah, this is it. Did you need a potion?" Harry asked in a voice that suggested she was going to have to buy something in exchange for peeking in on him while he was at his job.

"Hmmm…" Ginny brought a finger to her chin, looking around contemplatively. Then she lifted her nose in the air, pretending to be a persnickety customer. "Well, I'm very hard to please, but we'll see what you can do. Let's see…do you have any Skele-Gro?" She asked. She realized she actually needed some because one of her patients required it and the hospital was running low.

"Mr. Pudgy?" Harry questioned. Ginny was perplexed until a fat cat ambled into view. He mewed at her, then ambled down one of the long shelves in the shop. Curious, Ginny followed him after a hesitant glance at Harry. He only smirked.

Mr. Pudgy was pointing his tail at something. Ginny grinned in surprise when she realized he was showing her where the Skele-Gro was. She laughed, then bent over and patted the cat.

"What a delightful cat!"

"He's my boss."

"What?" Ginny asked flabbergasted. Harry was grinning, and it was infectious.

"Just what I said – I work for the cat. Mr. Pudgy works for Winston, who owns the shop."

Ginny giggled. She couldn't help it. Obviously Harry thought it was amusing as well. Still smiling, she scooped Mr. Pudgy up in her arms. The cat purred happily.

"I think your boss is cute, Harry."

"Most of the customers do."

"And what about customers…do you have a lot of them?" Ginny asked. Harry shrugged.

"Regulars only. Older witches and wizards mainly."

"Has anyone recognized you?" She asked carefully, hoping it wouldn't cause Harry to clam up. He smiled as he shook his head.

"Nope. Not a single one. To be honest, they all seem a bit…batty. They all have a lot of money, and they think I'm Winston's grandson or something. None of them can get my name right, either. I've worked here for two weeks, and Winston still keeps calling me Gary."

Ginny smiled as she put Mr. Pudgy down on the counter and let Harry ring up her purchase. She was a bit surprised at the price.

"Are you sure, Harry? That's not much."

"Winston sets the prices. I don't know why, but he gets most of his supplies for brewing free. Almost everything is priced really low here."

"Do you mean to say Winston brews all these potions himself?"

Harry didn't seem to see what was so special about that. Mr. Pudgy was looking very smug.

"Well, yeah. 53 bottles of everything. Part of my job is to check for stuff that's about to expire and pull it from the shelves. Then I tell Winston what he needs to re-stock. Why – don't all apothecaries brew their own stuff?"

"No, Harry, they don't. Most apothecary owners are business men – not potions masters. They order their potions from various outside sources. They're also considerably more pricey."

"Oh, well, all the stuff here is brewed by Winston. I guess that's why he needs so much time off. I never really thought about it." Ginny had a contemplative look on her face.

"Harry…would you mind if I told my supervisor about this place?"

"No…why?"

"Because my wing in the hospital could save a lot of money by ordering from someone local that doesn't jack the price up. It seems we're always short on potions because of budget issues."

"Sure, go ahead." Ginny got the distinct impression Mr. Pudgy was smiling at her.

"Okay then. Well, I have to get back to work, but thanks! I'll tell my supervisor and see what he says. See you later, Harry!" Ginny left, purchase in hand, and Harry went back to staring at the muggles walk obliviously past the shop. Mr. Pudgy mewed.

"Why would he be mad? I thought we _wanted_ to get customers," Harry replied without really thinking. Then his eyes went wide, and he looked at the cat suspiciously. "Wait. How did I understand you?"

Mr. Pudgy was staunchly silent. He only flicked his tail in a preoccupied way and began to casually lick a paw. Harry wondered if he was going crazy.

Winston was rather miffed when Harry informed him the hospital had placed a very large order.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I thought more customers would be a good thing…" Harry trailed off helplessly. Mr. Pudgy was sitting on the counter, watching Harry and Winston discuss the issue.

"We have customers, Gary. 53 of them, to be exact. No more and no less."

Mr. Pudgy meowed.

"What on earth do you mean, Mr. Pudgy? We have 53 – not 54," Winston corrected automatically.

"Err…the friend from the hospital bought some Skele-Gro a while back," Harry admitted hesitantly.

Winston looked highly perturbed.

"Oh, I suppose all this is my fault. I should have told you. I'm very…exclusive about my clientele. Friends only. I completely forgot that _your_ friends would now be able to see the shop as well. I have exactly 53 friends, so that's the number of potions I stock at all times. Didn't Mr. Pudgy explain this to you?"

Harry shot a look at Mr. Pudgy.

"No. He didn't say anything. Ginny picked him up, and he seemed to really like her."

Winston rolled his eyes.

"She was pretty, wasn't she? Mr. Pudgy, you womanizer! I can't believe you'd break the rule for the first pretty miss that walks in the door. You, my good sir, are a furry traitor!"

Mr. Pudgy didn't look insulted in the least.

"Now what hospital placed the order?"

"St. Mungos, the wizarding hospital. Ginny works with the children. She said we had good prices, and she wanted to tell her boss because they're always short on potions because of budget issues."

Mr. Churchill sighed heavily.

"Children, did you say?"

Harry nodded.

"And these children aren't getting the potions they need?"

"I guess they get them one way or another. Ginny paid for the Skele-Gro out of her own pocket."

Mr. Pudgy mewed. Harry still didn't have a clue what he was saying, or if he was even really talking at all.

"Well, yes, Mr. Pudgy. I'm not heartless. I suppose I do have much more time on my hands now that young Gary works for us…" He seemed to be debating the issue in his head. "Alright, you may tell the hospital their order will be filled by the end of the week. But please ask they not spread the word about our establishment. This will be enough change for a very long while."

Harry smiled.

"Thanks, Winston. The children, and their parents, will really appreciate it."

Mr. pudgy meowed.

"Don't talk to me you turncoat. You don't care about the children at all – you just want this Ginny girl to come back and coddle you some more. You should be ashamed of yourself, you old dog."

Mr. Pudgy _did_ look a little irritated at that one. His tail straight in the air, Mr. Pudgy retreated to the back storage room in a huff. Winston disappeared to his rooms above the shop with an equally irritated air.

Reminding himself that he had taken the job voluntarily, Harry locked up the shop and began to head home.

**A/N: **Snape will make his entrance soon, but I'm not sure how. Or exactly when. Or what he's going to do once he gets there. But I do have something planned for the next chapter that's going to make your heart feel all warm and fuzzy.


	4. Little Surprises

**Chapter 4**

"_Little Surprises"_

He hated his potions. They tasted like pickled toads. Or roaches. Or boogers.

One might wonder how someone would know what those things tasted like, but the patient in question was an eight-year-old boy and so that explained it.

Ginny patiently measured out the dose, vaguely realizing it was one from the new shipment from Winston Churchill. He'd been very demanding for information. He'd wanted to know what each child was suffering from, any allergies they had, and oddly enough, what their personalities were like. Ginny had informed him as best she could, and now it was time to see if the custom brewed potions would be as effective as the ones they used previously.

Danny's mother sat by his bed, ready to help Ginny force the potion down the little boy's throat if it was necessary. After four years of taking vile potions all the time and being confined to a hospital bed, Danny wasn't always very cooperative.

"Alright, Danny, here it is. Are you going to be a good boy and take it for me?"

He glared sullenly, but accepted the little cup filled with bright green potion.

"Why's it green instead of brown?" he asked, rubbing his button nose with the back of a small hand.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. We ordered it from someone different this time, so maybe he made some changes. You like green, though, don't you?"

"It _is_ my favorite color. How did he know?"

Ginny wondered if that's why he'd wanted to know things about the children. Had he really taken into consideration things like their favorite colors?

"Well, go ahead. Bottoms up, little man," Ginny instructed crisply.

Danny took a hesitant sip, then smiled broadly.

"It tastes…like chocolate!" Danny happily guzzled the rest of it. When he burped a few seconds later, his mother started to reprimand him, only to stop abruptly in surprise.

Danny was burping rainbow colored bubbles. They floated into the air, popping like a miniature fireworks show. Danny laughed happily, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he watched the show. Amazed, Ginny left a burping Danny to visit her next patient.

She was a quiet little girl, also permanently bedridden. As a child she'd been hit with a very nasty hex by an abusive parent that kept her from developing properly. She was also almost constantly covered with a painful rash that they couldn't seem to cure. Her mother, an equally timid woman, worked horrible hours and didn't see her very often. She was there with her that morning, however, as it was a Saturday.

"Hi Elizabeth, how are you sweetie?" Ginny asked, noticing with a smile that Elizabeth's potion was a delicate pink, rather than the frothy red it usually was. Elizabeth didn't like the look of the previous potion. It reminded her of blood.

Elizabeth offered a weak smile as a greeting, but didn't say anything. Her mother shyly said hello, then went back to gently caressing her daughter's tiny hand. Ginny uncorked the large bottle (she had to drink one daily, because her body didn't process nutrients very well) and smiled wondrously at the wonderful aroma that suddenly filled the room.

"It…it smells like flowers!" Elizabeth said brightly. Ginny's eyes went to the much-loved copy of _The Forbidden Garden_ sitting on Elizabeth's bed stand. She read it all the time, and Ginny had mentioned it to Winston.

"It does, doesn't it? This is a new potion we just got in that a nice man made just for you. Do you like it?"

"Very much," the little girl replied, taking a deep sniff of the potion when Ginny handed it to her. Ginny was about to put the bottle back on the cart when she noticed a small note stuck to the label.

"Oh, look, Winston sent you a note. It says, 'So that you may smell your garden while you read about it.' How fun! Winston really outdid himself with these!" Even Ginny was curious to see if the potion would have any other surprise effects. Hesitantly, Elizabeth took a small sip.

"What does it taste like, Elizabeth?" her mother asked. There was a smile on her weary face, and it made her look much younger. Elizabeth beamed, really smiling for the first time since Ginny had known her. Ginny wondered if the potion contained some sort of cheering element – usually the little girl was always melancholy.

"It tastes like lemonade! Like sweet, icy lemonade!"

It went like that for every child in the wing. The other healers began to go from room to room, almost as delighted by the effects of the potions as the children were. All day the wing was filled with all sorts of wonderful things. Some children were able to imitate animal noises exactly, some of them floated a few inches in the air every time they hiccupped. Smells that were associated with happy childhoods floated out of every other room, and not one boy or girl suffered from a foul tasting potion.

Ginny entered the dusty little apothecary with her arms filled. Harry looked up in surprise, wheeling around from behind the desk to see what she had brought. Mr. Pudgy immediately jumped onto the counter, rolling onto his back so that Ginny would rub his stomach.

It turned out that the children had enjoyed their potions so much, they had wanted to make gifts and cards for Winston. Harry looked at the sweet drawings and glittery crafts.

"Looks like Winston's made more friends – a whole hospital of them," Harry said with a smile. Ginny scooped up Mr. Pudgy, holding him against her chest and nuzzling his head with her forehead.

"How are you doing, Mr. Pudgy?" Harry mock pouted.

"I see how it is. You say hello to Mr. Pudgy before you say hello to me."

Ginny laughed, delighted that Harry was joking around again, and deposited Mr. Pudgy back onto the counter. She hugged Harry, ruffling his wild hair.

"Hi, Harry, how are you doing today?"

"Fine thanks, how are you?"

"Wonderful. It's been a delight at work all week," Ginny launched into a retelling of the miraculous potions. Harry smiled brightly, his heart warming to hear about how happy all the children were. Ginny picked up the new stock and left for work, but the happy news she'd brought seemed to brighten up the store a bit, and Harry found himself humming a jaunty little tune as he pulled the expired potions off the shelf.

Severus usually didn't venture into the Hogwarts staff room often. It was usually filled with members of the staff all under the ridiculous assumption that they could relax and chat amiably with each other. Severus had neither the time nor the inclination to flitter about the staff room like a social butterfly.

However, that's where the meeting was being held, so he bravely ventured inside. He was surprised to hear that the ladies already there were discussing him.

"Wouldn't the students just die of shock if Severus started flavoring his potions?"

"I'd probably get a great deal more traffic in the hospital wing if my potions did these sorts of things."

Upon seeing him, Minerva kindly offered him the article they were discussing. A slender black brow raised imperceptibly as he scanned the article. A potions master, no names were mentioned, was the new supplier of St. Mungo's children's ward. Apparently his potions did things to amuse the children taking them.

Severus brushed it off, saying it was a waste of time and ingredients and that potions were meant to do a job, not entertain, but in the privacy of his thoughts he thought back to when he was a boy. He'd visited a certain friend of his mother's…a man who had made him want to become a potions master himself. He remembered how the man's potions, when his mother had said they were being purchased for him, would taste like strawberries and would leave him feeling cheery and bright. Severus had a feeling the mysterious potions master was none other than Winston Churchill – the kindly old man that had tutored him and answered all his potion questions as a boy.

Though Severus didn't usually keep up correspondence with anyone, he realized he hadn't written Winston a letter since his mother died. He wondered if the man knew he'd attainted his mastery. It was time, Severus told himself, that he sent Winston an owl.

**A/N: **Short chapter, but it was mostly filler. Things will pick back up in the next chapter, now that I've figured out how Severus is going to be connected to Winston.


	5. Changes

**Chapter 5**

"_Changes"_

It had never happened before. In his seventy plus years a potions master, it had never happened even once.

He'd forgotten what ingredient came next. The old man stared into the cauldron and tried as hard as he could to remember, but the information simply wouldn't come. The timing was ruined, and Winston resignedly turned off the fire underneath the cauldron. The potion turned from a foamy blue to a foul smelling brown.

Winston sat down tiredly, simply staring at the cauldron in quiet contemplation.

Suddenly, a large, black bird tapped on the window insistently and interrupted his trance. Assuming it was a letter from one of his dear friends (he so enjoyed getting letters!), he quickly went to the window and retrieved the scroll. He could use something to cheer himself up.

_Dear Mr. Churchill,_

_Upon seeing an article in the Daily Prophet about the newly hired potions master for St. Mungos, I was reminded of you so strongly that I was sure it had to be you. I realized I hadn't written to you when my mother, Mrs. Anna Snape, passed away._

Winston sighed heavily at that. Pretty Anna had been such a sweet lady. When Severus had been younger, ten or twelve, she'd brought him regularly to his home for tutoring. She'd raised the boy well, if Winston remembered correctly. He was always curious and polite – completely enthralled by anything having to do with potions. The craft had excited him in a way that made Winston smile to think back on it. The boy's eyes, so much like his mother's, would light up and his streak of melancholy would vanish. His mother had been a devoted customer of his for years, even before he'd officially opened a shop.

_I thought you might be interested to know that I achieved my mastery in potions and am currently teaching at Hogwarts. I wish I could say I enjoy teaching, but I'm afraid that isn't the case. Circumstances required me to remain at the school, but now I am no longer tied here. I've received an offer to work with the Ministry, but I do not know if I will accept. My employer has asked me as a personal favor to remain teaching here for another year, but beyond that my future is uncertain. The notion to open my own apothecary, one not so dissimilar to the shop I remember you owning as a child, occurred to me, but I know nothing about running a business and so I'm afraid my childhood dream is slightly impractical. _

_I have paid special attention to your work with medicinal potions, not just most recently concerning the work you're doing for St. Mungos (I assume it _is_ you supplying the hospital), but most notably, your line of muscular regenerating potions you patented a few years ago. I would have written you then, but my life was a bit hectic at the time, to say the least._

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have never forgotten the encouragement you gave me when I was a boy. I'm sorry to bring you the news of my mother's passing if you had not been aware, but I know for a fact she was happy before she died, even though it was at such a young age. _

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape _

The news about Anna was distressing, but he was glad to hear from young Severus. In fact, he would write to him immediately. Winston looked again, this time speculatively, at the ruined potion and then at the letter in his hand. Already, a plan was beginning to form in his mind.

A year had passed. Harry had become good friends with most of the elderly witches and wizards that came to the shop, and knew all their oddities and quirks. For example, Mr. Penbrooke wanted his change entirely in knuts. Mrs. Weatherbottom never ordered potions for herself, but rather for her seventeen cats. Ms. Lackerly had five sons, fifteen grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren, and none of them ever came to visit her, though they frequently wrote. Harry knew the names of all her relatives, and was kind enough to let the lonely woman tell him all about them, even if it meant listening to her talk for hours.

His mood had lightened considerably. He was no longer so depressed, but he remained reclusive in his apartment. Winston had spoken with him several times about making a potion that would restore his ability to walk, if only for a few steps at a time, but Harry wasn't putting too much hope in it. He was content as he was. His life was simple, decidedly unexciting, and blissfully predictable.

That is, until Severus Snape showed up in the shop one day around lunch time.

It was one of the days Harry didn't have to be at the shop, but he was there anyway because he didn't like sitting in his dump of an apartment being tempted by the booze in the fridge, and he enjoyed talking with Winston. He was fetching something in the back hen he heard the unforgettable voice.

It would be an understatement to say he never wanted to see Severus Snape again. For one thing, no one in the wizarding world had seen hide nor hair of him since the downfall of Voldemort. The public knew he'd spent a great deal of time in St. Mungos, but beyond that, they knew nothing of his condition or whereabouts. They certainly didn't know he was magically and physically handicapped.

Harry knew Dumbledore might have informed Snape on his condition, but he might have actually respected Harry's request that he stay tight lipped. Either way, whether Snape knew how pathetic he'd become or not, he didn't want the older man to see him.

The ingredient he'd fetched forgotten, he quickly wheeled himself out the back exit into the narrow alley behind the shop, leaving the door open so that he could catch bits and pieces of the conversation.

"My, Severus, how you've grown! It is a shock, I must admit, when in my head I still think of you as a boy of twelve!" Winston's voice, loud and clear, was easily heard. Snape's reply, much deeper and softer, was not so distinct. He said something about the shop, and then commented on the location.

"Yes, the shop is by invitation only at present. I set up the shop with the aim of supplying my friends with potions, and I've found no reason to change. I did wish to spend more time experimenting as of late, so I hired the young assistant I told you about a year or so ago. Gary is a delightful lad. He's here, or he was. He probably left through the back to go get some lunch."

Harry didn't catch any of Snape's reply.

"I told you there would be no reason to worry on that account. Gary keeps the books and handles the customers. He's quite capable of running the business side of things. Mr. Pudgy – he's my partner, you know – has taught him well. Mr. Pudgy keeps inventory and keeps the place clean. Both of them are gone it seems. Ah, well, I'm sure you'll meet them eventually."

Not if Harry had anything to say about it. Snape spoke for awhile, and the two of them went upstairs – the one part of the shop Harry had never been. That was where Winston's potions lab and his living quarters were. Of course, Harry probably would have visited, except he was in a wheelchair and stairs were rather difficult to navigate. Winston had never offered to levitate him, or something equally embarrassing, and Harry was grateful.

Mr. Pudgy meowed questioningly, just waking up from his nap.

"Snape's out there. He was…an old teacher of mine. He hated me – treated me like crap."

Mr. Pudgy, who had formed a very close friendship with Harry, looked offended on his behalf. He settled down in Harry's lap once again and purred contentedly, saying in his own strange way, _'Who could hate you when you have a lap so exquisitely warm and comfortable?' _

"Snape didn't spend much of his time in my lap, Mr. Pudgy," Harry pointed out reasonably, wondering if it was safe to go back inside. Mr. Pudgy decided to venture out and get a look for himself. Winston was nowhere to be seen, presumably still upstairs, and the tall, sour looking man was quickly walking towards the door. Mr. Pudgy expectantly darted into his path, expecting to be petted, but was profoundly shocked when the stranger had the audacity to kick him out of the way. Mind you, it wasn't a hard kick, but it certainly wasn't a pet on the head!

Harry heard the front door close, and assumed the coast was clear.

Cautiously, he wheeled back into the main part of the store. Winston, who had returned, looked up at him, smiling broadly.

"Well, it's all been settled. Tomorrow I retire!"

A loud mew and a startled, "What!" from Harry caused Winston to raise his eyebrows almost comically in surprise.

"Just what I said. I'm retiring to Bermuda. I take the early morning floo."

Mr. Pudgy meowed plaintively, in an injured kind of way.

"Nonsense, Mr. Pudgy, you're far too young to retire. You and Gary are to stay here and help my successor with the shop. He has big plans to expand it. I wrote in the contract that he would have to keep you both on for six months time, during which time I'm sure he'll realize what valuable employees you both are, so no need to worry for your jobs."

Harry was too shocked to reply. Mr. Pudgy yowled quite angrily.

"Mr. Pudgy! That's quite uncalled for! I'm afraid my bags are already packed and I'm decided on the matter. I'm going to spend my 130th birthday on a sunny beach wearing tacky shorts. You two shall remain here and make sure Severus is successful. Owning his own shop was his dream as a boy, and he seems so dispirited now, that I insist you help him be a huge success."

Mr. Pudgy angrily stomped the ground with a fat, furry paw.

"Why on earth would Severus have kicked you? It must have been an accident. I'm sure he was properly contrite."

Mr. Pudgy was about to reply that, no, he had not been contrite at all, but Winston was already walking away – no doubt to finish his packing.

"I don't want to have to quit. I like it here," Harry finally said quietly. Mr. Pudgy, who was a great deal more perceptive than Winston, hopped into Harry's lap and comfortingly nuzzled him.

'_You can't quit and leave me all alone with that abusive curmudgeon, Harry! What if he doesn't feed me? Or change my litter box? Who will be here to pat my back when I have hairballs? You simply can't leave. We must stick together. Let him do his worse – we'll show him this place is nothing without us!'_

Despondently, Harry gently removed Mr. Pudgy from his lap and set him on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pudgy, I just can't work with him. If he treats you poorly, you can come live with me. I'll take care of you."

Mr. Pudgy could do nothing but watch sadly as Harry wheeled out of the shop, possibly for the last time.

**A/N: **Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Well, now Snape's gone and offended Mr. Pudgy. He's doomed.


	6. Introductions

**Now Hiring**

**Chapter 6**

_Introductions_

Severus Snape was not pleased. Perhaps there had been some misunderstanding? It was Monday morning, precisely the time the hired help was supposed to arrive, and yet the shop was empty except for himself and the overfed cat.

Though Severus was not ecstatic about being forced to work with Mr. Pudgy and Gary, he knew he needed their expertise. The fact that they were obviously not punctual men upset him greatly.

He paced about the shop for a while, becoming more and more perturbed by the foul beast that kept trying to trip him up. Eventually, he took the animal by the nape of its fat neck and deposited it in the store room. Then he locked it.

No customers came, and no hired help showed up. Hours passed.

Severus was certain there had been a misunderstanding when the bell tinkled merrily and broke him out of his brooding. He stood abruptly, though he couldn't see that anyone had come in.

Harry braced himself before opening the door. He had debated over whether or not he would come, but then something had sparked inside him. Something that felt a little like the old Harry.

Harry wasn't going to let Snape take what little happiness and routine he'd found in life. The job was his for six months, and he'd be damned if he let someone take it from him before his contract was over. Holding his head high, he boldly wheeled himself through the door until he was staring up at one obviously shocked Severus Snape.

"Sorry I'm late," Harry said to break the silence. "I wasn't sure if I wanted to come to work anymore, but I've decided that I'll continue working here until my contract expires."

Snape had obviously recovered somewhat from his shock, because a very familiar glare was settling over his features. Dismissing him, Harry wheeled towards the yowling coming from the storage room.

"Why is Mr. Pudgy locked in the storeroom?" Harry asked accusingly. Snape opened his mouth to reply, no doubt scathingly, but by then Harry had opened the door and Mr. Pudgy came shooting out like a rocket. He climbed straight up Snape's robes and clawed him in the face. Snape let out a hiss of pain and pried the cat off his chest, being far too violent. He flung Mr. Pudgy away from him, holding his bleeding face and looking murderous. He pulled his wand out, aiming it at a furiously hissing Mr. Pudgy.

Shocked into moving, Harry wheeled himself in front of Mr. Pudgy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Put that away!"

Snape drew back, confusion warring with shock on his face.

"_Potter_…what the hell are you doing here?" Snape finally managed, regaining a small amount of his composure. Mr. Pudgy continued to hiss dangerously at him, now perched in Harry's lap.

"I work here. So does Mr. Pudgy. He's a very intelligent cat, and he does his job well. You'd do well to treat him with more respect in the future. How long did you leave him locked in the storage room?"

"That isn't…why are you…Winston said nothing about…"

Just then, the bell over the door rang again.

If Harry had already began to slightly regret coming to work, he started kicking himself when he saw who had waltzed in as if he owned the place.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered quietly. His green eyes darkened immediately. Surprised, Draco took a step back and arched a silvery blonde brow.

"_Potter?_ The famous Boy-Who-Lived? You look…terrible." Malfoy looked as though he'd forgotten all about what had become of Harry Potter. No doubt he'd pictured him living in some picturesque cottage out in the middle of nowhere, happy and prosperous, living simply as he'd always wished.

Needless to say, it was quite a shock for both of them. His cool blue eyes moved to take in Severus, still looking highly ruffled with long claw marks bleeding on his face. The cat hissed at him as well, slashing the air in warning.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked coldly.

"_I _work for Severus. I'm his apprentice. What are _you _doing here?"

Harry was quiet for a few moments, then he chuckled darkly. It caused a chill to run up Draco's spine. His old school enemy was completely changed, that much was obvious. He was down right creepy.

"I work for Snape as well, it would seem. Ironic, isn't it?"

Neither Snape nor Draco answered Harry's question, because just at that moment the bell rang again, and a customer came in.

Instantly, Harry dropped the dark glare and forced a look of pleasantness onto his face.

"Morning, Ms. Brill. How are you doing?"

The elderly woman breezed in, completely oblivious to the thick tension in the room.

"Hello, Harry dear! I'm just fine – wonderful! In fact, I just got a letter from my dear nephew…"

Harry pushed Draco aside, who was just standing there dumbly, and wheeled towards the old woman.

"Which nephew is that?" Harry asked genially, taking the old woman's tattered cloak and ridiculously feathered hat. He deposited them on a shelf nearby. Mr. Pudgy jumped from his lap and happily received a friendly back scratch from the genial old woman.

"Oh, it was my dearest Arnold. He's in the muggle military, you know. He's received a promotion in rank!"

"That _is_ good news. How is your sister doing?" Harry was doing his best to pretend Snape and Malfoy weren't staring at him like he'd grown three heads, but it was rather hard to ignore. Still, he wasn't about to be rude and depressing around a little old woman who had enough of her own troubles.

"Oh, you know. She's taking it one day at a time. And who are these two fine, young men?" She asked curiously, peering over her cheap spectacles at Snape and Malfoy. Everything about her, in fact, was cheap. She rarely bought potions. She didn't have the money. Instead, she came for a bit of friendly companionship. Harry had the suspicion he, Winston, and Mr. Pudgy were her only friends.

"This is Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. Winston has left Snape in charge of the shop."

"Well, come here, my dears! Let me have a good look at you! Blind as a bat, I'm afraid."

Both men remained where they were, looking highly uncomfortable. Harry smiled when Ms. Brill began to poke and prod at them, squinting at their faces and taking her measure of them in her usual peculiar way. Finally, Snape had taken enough.

"Excuse me," he pulled her hand away from his bicep, "_madam_, but is there something you wish to purchase?" His voice was harsh and scathing.

Ms. Brill pulled her hand to her breast, her large blue eyes going wide and her lips trembling. She looked as though Snape had slapped her.

It was then that Harry had the immense pleasure of seeing Snape look guilty about something. He'd used his 'unruly third-years' voice on a helpless, old lady. Ms. Brill seemed to shrink away from the harsh tone, easily offended and extremely sensitive. Harry had learned quickly to always be overly polite and friendly with her, even if it was a strain to smile for so long in her presence. He needed to intervene.

"Forgive him, Ms. Brill. He doesn't know what a good friend of mine you are. Why don't you take your usual seat, and I'll get some of your favorite tea."

Ms. Brill, much subdued, took her usual seat beside the counter. Mr. Pudgy jumped into her lap, and she began to stroke his back. He purred contentedly, shooting a look at Snape as if to say, _'This is how it's done, you moron.'_

After Harry had brought her a cup of hot tea, the woman began rambling about inconsequential things as she usually did. Snape and Draco hovered nearby, obviously clueless as to what they were supposed to do. Eventually, the disappeared upstairs for awhile, but then came back down just as Ms. Brill was leaving, about an hour later.

Ms. Brill had talked up a storm. Harry merely listened the entire time, looking as though he was having the time of his life. Eventually, Ms. Brill announced she was due at the bakers and had to be going, but that she would be back soon for another visit. She left, much to Snape's ire, without buying anything.

After she was gone, Snape exploded.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that you are just as incompetent as a salesman as you were as a potions student? She must have listed a hundred ailments she had, and yet she left without a single potion. _What _exactly are you being paid for, Potter?" Snape barked. Draco watched the scene unfold, a little smirk on his face.

Harry, who had returned to his glower the second Ms. Brill had left, straightened in his chair. He felt that spark of anger, that rush of adrenaline, that only Snape could goad out of him.

"Why doesn't it surprise _me_ that you're still a heartless bastard? Did you see her clothes? Her worn out shoes? What would she have paid you with? Her grocery money? That poor old woman doesn't have a single friend in this country besides Winston. It's the highlight of her sad little life to come talk to me for an hour or so each week. If _I_ were you Snape, I'd show a bit more compassion. It won't be long before you're just as old and alone as she is."

Snape's eyes hardened in retaliation, his reply on the tip of his tongue, when the bell rang again and interrupted their second argument of the day. This time it was a paying customer – a very important one.

"Hey, Harry!" Ginny called brightly. The look on her face was comical when she realized who else was in the store.

She locked eyes with Malfoy and the temperature seemed to drop. Her glare was frigid.

His was hungry.

Harry realized Ginny had become a beautiful young woman. Her red hair was long and soft, her figure petite, and her eyes were enchanting. Harry assumed that if he hadn't been gay, he would have been highly attracted to her.

Draco, it seemed, didn't have that excuse. He was looking at her like a starving bear looks at fresh meat. Just when Harry decided that, wheelchair or not, he would beat Draco off if he had to, Ginny reminded him that she was all grown up. She certainly didn't need him fighting her battles for her.

"Harry told me Snape was buying the shop, but he didn't say anything about _you_."

"Apparently, he's going to work here as well," Harry informed her. Ginny smirked, as if she'd just been handed ammo for her gun.

"How the mighty have fallen, eh Malfoy?"

That certainly wiped the suggestive look right off Malfoy's face.

Harry smirked. Score one for the home team. Harry, Pudgy, and Ginny 1 – Malfoy and Snape 0. Harry looked at the explosive combination of people and realized he probably should have just stayed in bed.

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long. Combine major writer's block with finals week and you get one really slow author. Thanks for coming back to read, even though the update was so late!


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